


We're Not a Couple

by anonomoose21



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action, Drunk Sherlock, Family get togethers, Fluff, Hospitals, Humor, Jealous John, M/M, Mentions of Mystrade, Pining Sherlock, Romance, bits of cases, indenial john, mentions of Reichenbach, not quite sure of the timeline I'm going for, post Reichenbach ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-05-08 14:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5501891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonomoose21/pseuds/anonomoose21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10 times John and Sherlock are seen as a couple, and the one time they're not</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The day he moved in with Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Not brit-picked, but I did my best!  
> Some chapters will be a re-write from the episode, the majority will be original ideas.  
> Thanks for reading, please review and leave kudos! :) enjoy!

Mrs. Hudson is a very sweet, older lady. If John hadn’t known any better, he would’ve assumed that Mrs. Hudson is Sherlock’s grandmother; she reacted as such when they came to the door. But John did know better. Sherlock explained how he met her and guaranteed her husbands execution. John was impressed, in a sick kind of way.

Mrs. Hudson was so thrilled to see that Sherlock had found someone to move in with him, although John guessed it’s more that Sherlock found a friend than a flatmate. The woman is a sweetheart so it was difficult for John to be all that angry at her for mistaking them as a couple; but perhaps he was more surprised that someone even thought such a thing because he has never been seen as gay before.

“There’s another bedroom upstairs, if you’ll be needing two bedrooms.”

“Well of course we’ll be needing two.” John said with a confused frown.

“Oh, don’t worry, there’s all sorts ‘round here. Mrs. Turner next door’s got married ones.” Mrs. Hudson looked completely indifferent like it is a known fact that he and Sherlock are together, and it didn’t make a difference to her. John pointedly looked at Sherlock who was avoiding eye contact. Mrs. Hudson started going on about the mess Sherlock made but Johns mind was elsewhere. Well, okay then. He thought to himself, and decided to ignore the assumption and sat down in the nearest chair.

That is until DI Lestrade came in and gave Sherlock a case and had him go running out of the flat like a child on Christmas.  
Mrs. Hudson shook her head.

“Look at him dashing about.” She said and then looked at John with a knowing smile. “My husband was just the same, but you’re more the sitting down type, I can tell.” _Wait, what?_ “I’ll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg.”

“DAMN MY LEG!” John burst out, surprising Mrs. Hudson and himself. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just sometimes this bloody thing…” John trailed off. He is more than frustrated with his leg, he is a bit frustrated with being called homosexual, and he is aggravated with Sherlock for running out on him, moving in without letting him know…

“I understand, dear, I've got a hip.” Mrs. Hudson soothed. 

John sighed and listened as Mrs. Hudson went back into the kitchen. He needs to calm himself down, but his damn leg—and that comment about being with Sherlock.

John looked around the room, hoping for a change in his thought process to make himself relax. It’s a nice place, he supposes he could dust a little and organize the bookshelf. He could ask Sherlock to clear some space for his books, it’s not like he has that many. John has perhaps two suitcases of clothing and a box of books and pictures. Being in the army, John has not needed more than the shirt on his back and the gun on his hip.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear Sherlock come back up the stairs. 

_Oh God, yes._

Neither of them saw Mrs. Hudson smile knowingly as they ran out together.


	2. In the park with Greg and Mycroft

It is a beautiful day out for London, the clouds are breaking up and the sun is peaking through onto the streets. Despite the cold winter air, the sun is warm when it shines on John.

“Do you see a fat man anywhere?” Sherlock asks casually from underneath the nearest tree, while John stood a few feet away under the suns rays.

“No.” John answered, forcing back an eye roll. He is use to Sherlock calling Mycroft fat, when he certainly isn’t, but John is still amused and annoyed by Sherlocks comments.

“Stupid!” Sherlock suddenly scolded himself, his face set in a frown. “I should’ve known someone that fat would take their time walking this far into the park.”

John stared at Sherlock who’s leaning against the tree with his usual grace and elegance. John inwardly smiled, only Sherlock could pull off tree-leaning and make it look as if it’s an act the Queen should be mimicking.

“Sherlock-” John began.

“Don’t bother, John. We are wasting precious time standing here while he is probably finishing his donut down the street.” Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms and pursing his lips, effectively forming his famous sulk.

John sighed and continued to stare at him. His eyebrows drawn down in a frown, and lips shaped in a scowl. It is a funny sight to see, Sherlock pouting in public with his back supported by the trunk of the tree and one foot propped up against it, arms tightly crossed over his chest. His cheeks and nose are growing pink from the cold, John is sure his are too, although the sun is helping. Sherlock is probably freezing, but isn’t saying a word because of his dignity.

Sherlock is staring intently at the grass below him, John received the side profile of his face and a diagonal of his body. If John were an artist, he would be tempted to draw Sherlock like this. It is a sight to see with the different shapes and angles and the odd contentment that filled the air.

“Admiring the view?” Came a voice behind John. John definitely did not jump a little and turn around sharply. There stood Greg Lestrade looking amused.

“Er, sorry?” John questioned, clearly confused.

“Is the happy couple bickering again?” Came another voice behind John, this time a few feet away. John turned around and saw Mycroft, Sherlock looked just as surprised to see him, as seeing he was too distracted by the grass under his feet. (That reaction alone is a surprise. Sherlock is always aware of what is happening around him). John’s sudden desire to draw Sherlock disappeared as he began to process what both Greg and Mycroft had said.

“Well you certainly took your time.” Sherlock stated in annoyance and pushed off the tree trunk.

“Should we come back later?” Greg asked as he stepped around John and stood next to Mycroft. “If this is a bad time-”

“Why would it be a bad time?” John shifted uncomfortably, knowing what he will answer but not going to stand down from this oncoming argument.

Greg eyed him nervously like he crossed a line, Mycroft on the other hand couldn’t give two damns. “You two seem like you’ve already broken up.” He stated smugly.

“We’re not together.” John stated bluntly. He knows that Mycroft is only trying to work him up and frankly it’s working. “And we’re not actually fighting either, not that it is any of your concern.”

Mycroft glared at John and John glared back. Greg looked away probably feeling guilty, and Sherlock being Sherlock seemed completely indifferent, though that didn’t stop the obvious bitterness in his tone as he said, “So Graham joined you for a donut.” He turned to an annoyed looking Greg. “Careful with this one, he will feed you until you look like him and implode.”

“Can we get to the subject at hand, please?” John threw in before anyone else could make an immature comment.

Greg looked at him gratefully and Mycroft sighed and began to explain the situation.

It was a murder of someone in the British Government, it is meant to remain ‘hush-hush’ but the Yard is having trouble finding the culprit, ‘as usual’, though Greg blames it on not being able to inform his entire team.

John and Sherlock found the killer within three days.


	3. Sherlock was hit on

It was a normal day, well normal for anyone that wasn’t Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. It had been weeks since their last case and Sherlock was getting testy. John can’t take it when Sherlock is conducting hazardous experiments and shooting walls, but it’s even worse when he is sulking on the couch yelling _BORED_.

So John did the only thing he could think of: get Sherlock out of the flat, and that was a feat on its own because _there are idiots out there, John_.

But soon enough, John was able to get Sherlock to dress himself and walk out the door.

“Where are we going?” Sherlock asked as they stood on the curb.

“Hungry?” John asked and suddenly felt stupid for doing so, Sherlock is never hungry.

Sherlock glared at him.

“Right. Well when was the last time you ate?” John tried again.

“I’m fine, John.” Sherlock waved him off and looked away, telling John all he needs to know.

“Right then, lunch it is.” John waved a cab and the two of them got in, luckily Sherlock didn’t argue.

They had lunch and John was thankful to see Sherlock eat everything on his plate. Afterwards, the two of them decided to walk back to the flat. They were standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the okay to cross when the indescribable happened.

“Opmh.” Someone groaned, just at the same time Sherlock was shoved forward, making him stumble, though not losing his balance and somehow remaining perfectly graceful.

“Watch where you’re going!” Sherlock demanded angrily turning to the brown haired man that bumped into him and trying to compose himself by fixing his glasses and picking his phone up from the ground.

“I’m so sorry.” He said in a very masculine voice, and then looked up and suddenly froze, blue eyes growing wide. John stared at the guy and wondered if he knew Sherlock, but Sherlock looked completely confused and stared at him until the man spoke again, this time his features changed to something predatory. “Well, hello beautiful.”

John gaped at the man. _Did he just…_

Sherlock’s head cocked to one side. “No.” Sherlock said and turned around, completely unfazed. John looked between the two of them, the man didn’t even notice John standing there, his eyes remained on Sherlock and a mischievous grin spread across his face. _Oh he better not-_

“Playing hard to get, I understand.” The man walked up to stand next to Sherlock and positioned himself partially in front of him so he could see his face. The man bit his lip seductively. _Who the hell does this guy think he is?_ Sherlock kept his focus in front of him. “But a man as remarkable as you should have an evenly remarkable man by his side.”

“I already do.” Sherlock retorted. _Wait, what?_

A large smile played on the man’s lips, revealing shining, white teeth.

“Well I’m flattered, sunshine-”

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Sherlock turned to him and glared, making a show of taking Johns hand in the process.

“You’re with him?” The man questioned with a smidgen of disgust as he looked John up and down. John glared at him. _Asshole_.

Sherlock’s glare deepened. “And he is the best fuck I have ever had.” Johns eyes widened in shock, and Sherlock smiled deviously.

That was when the sign giving the okay to cross came on and Sherlock made a show of whisking John down the street by his hand.  
John blinked and let Sherlock lead him. John looked back at the man who was gaping at them, and held his head down in shame.

They didn’t speak until they were in the comfort of their flat.

“We are never leaving the flat again!” Sherlock exclaimed dramatically and flopped onto the couch. John sat in his usual chair and looked at Sherlock who appeared as if he were physically violated. John couldn’t help the chuckle that was forcing its way up his throat. Sherlock looked at him and after a moment, he was chuckling too, and soon enough they both burst into uncontrollable laughter.

When they regained control of themselves, and John was able to see past his sudden shock that someone would even try to hit on Sherlock Holmes, he noticed a twinge of something in his gut, something that recoiled and made him annoyed and… and…

Jealous.

No definitely not.

And it was then John realized Sherlock hadn't let go of his hand until they were inside their flat.


	4. Sherlock meets Harry

For everyone that is not John, this is probably the most amusing; hell, John would find it amusing, if it weren’t him.

It started out as a normal day, well as normal as it can be when living with Sherlock Holmes.

John awoke to a noise that sounded suspiciously like a bomb going off, followed by the familiar groan of Sherlock filling the air.

John was out of bed in an instant and running for the kitchen, calling out for Sherlock.

“Do not disturb me, John!” Sherlock growled in frustration. John, confused, turned the corner and saw Sherlock with his hands on his hips staring at the counter top where a gooey black substance could be found, covering the entirety of the counter and some of the floor and even parts of Sherlock himself.

“What the hell is going on?” John commanded.

With a swift swipe of Sherlocks hand, a large item flew off the table and hit the cabinet, falling to the floor, and taking some black goo with it. Sherlock started mumbling about distractions and false information when John suddenly realized it was a blowtorch Sherlock flung from the countertop.

“Is that-” John gave Sherlock a pointed glare. “You can’t be flinging blowtorches across the room, Sherlock. No actually, you shouldn’t even be bringing them inside-”

“It is all perfectly under control.” Sherlock cut off John.

“Clearly so.” John snapped back. “What have I told you about the experiments in the kitchen, Sherlock?”

“Nothing of import.” He grumbled.

“Sherlock.” John spoke warningly.

“‘Don’t do use anything that can contaminate the food, keep all body parts labeled and on their designated shelf in the fridge, never use the microwave under any circumstances, and, for the love of god Sherlock, do not use fire or make anything explode.’ Yes John, I remember your set rules about experiments.” Sherlock recounted the list exactly as John had recited them for the first time, but in a voice John would argue he sounds nothing like. Sherlock may beg to differ. 

“So what happened here? Did you decide to delete the list and then pull it from your mental trash bin just now to appease me?” John crossed his arms over his chest and continued to glare at the man before him.

“Don’t be ridiculous John.” Sherlock scoffed. “It’s not called a ‘mental trash bin’. Obviously, it is a recycle bin.”

“God dammit, Sherlock!” John made his way towards Sherlock but stopped at the voice behind him.

“Oh my, what has happened here?” Mrs. Hudson was suddenly beside John, looking at Sherlock accusingly. “Sherlock you better get this mess cleaned up, and I had better not find any stains or it will be placed on your rent.” She tisked at him in warning.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. You may leave now.” Sherlock spoke in annoyance, waving her off, and went about searching for something in the black goo.

“Make sure he cleans this will you?” She spoke softly to John who sighed and looked down at her with a tight smile. “And soon. You have a guest downstairs.”

“A guest?” John and Sherlock spoke at the same time. John looked at Sherlock accusingly for eavesdropping but Sherlock was looking at Mrs. Hudson with his curious frown.

“Yes. She seems to know you very well John.” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile. “Don’t know how much longer I can keep her occupied. She’s persistent, this one.” 

John stared at her for a long moment trying to put her words together and figure out what women he has been in contact with recently that is stubbornly pushy… when it suddenly clicked. Johns face turned gravely. “Oh no.” 

“What? Who is it John?” Sherlock came around the counter, feet padding in the goo that is now covering the floor, and examined Johns face trying to deduce who this woman could be.

“That would be me!” Came a happy feminine voice from the top of the stairs. “Mrs. Hudson, you told me Johnny was out.” She looked dramatically hurt towards Mrs. Hudson.

“Johnny?” Sherlock questioned, looking at John and not the overly-enthusiastic blonde girl.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Mrs. Hudson spoke and made her leave down the stairs. John, finally, turned to look at the girl. She smiled widely at him, exposing gleaming teeth.

“Hello, Harry.” John sighed.

“Geez, don’t get too excited to see me.” She said and walked over to hug him.

“Right. Sorry just a bit surprised.” John said as she pulled away.

“So is this the famous Sherlock Holmes?” Harry turned to Sherlock who had been watching the two intently.

“Er, yes Harry this is Sherlock. Sherlock, my sister Harry.” John introduced them, a bit awkwardly if he had to say so himself.

Harry lent her hand for Sherlock to shake. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you! I’ve been reading the blog, and Mrs. Hudson had been telling me all about you two.” She grinned.

Sherlock took her hand and smiled kindly while John fully grasped her words. “What exactly has she been telling you?”

“About your relationship of course! Honestly John I would think you would’ve told your sister first. Though I guess I always knew.” She shrugged like it’s no big deal. “Hey, we can double date! I promise to withhold all the homosexual jokes too. Like the ‘two gay couples walk into a bar’ ha, ha!” She laughed happily and glanced around the kitchen. “Gosh what happened in here?”

John stared wide-eyed at his sister while Sherlock was smirking at the entire exchange. “Harry, I’m not gay. Sherlock and I are not together.”

Harry turned around and gave him her ‘don’t lie to me’ stare that she had always given them since they were little. John almost backed away like he was a kid again, almost. “No point in hiding it now, Johnny. I know you better.”

“Harry-”

“John.” She looked at him with a challenge in her eyes. It was never like her to back down.

“I’M NOT GAY!” John exclaimed.

Harry rolled her eyes. “And neither am I.” She smirked and held up her left hand exposing her wedding ring. “Clara kept saying the same, even after we were engaged.”

John scoffed and looked to Sherlock for help, and good god did he wish he knew better.

“Don’t look at me John. I can’t help that you’re still in the closet.” Sherlock shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. John fully turned towards him and glared. Unbelievable.

“HA! I KNEW IT!” Harry jumped up and down. “Oh the sexual tension between the two of you. Clara and I were the same way, still are actually.” Harry looked off in deep dramatic thought of her and Clara.

John looked from her to Sherlock and back again. “Uh- er- No. Just stop. Both of you. I don’t need to hear about yours and Claras sexual relationship and I most certainly don’t need to hear about mine and Sherlocks.” John grimaced at the thought of his sister sexually active. Eek.

“So you admit it!” Harry was pulled out of her daze and smirked at John.

“Ugh. God. Harry. No.” John rubbed his forehead with his hand.

“John.” Sherlock spoke gently and looked down at John. John stared up at him angrily, he froze entirely when he felt Sherlocks hand interlock with his. “She already knows, there is no point in hiding it now.”

“YES!” Harry exclaimed, giggling. “How’s Saturday night? Clara found this great restaurant just in the heart of the city. Dress nicely, we will be here at seven.” Harry ran down the stairs but stopped halfway. “Maybe you shouldn’t ignore my calls so often John, then I wouldn’t have to show up so abruptly. Though I’m glad I did, otherwise I wouldn’t have met your boyfriend.” And then she was gone.

Sherlock let go of Johns hand and smirked. “I like her.” He said. “A bit manic, but rather entertaining.”

John turned to Sherlock and almost punched him. First the kitchen and now his sister thinks he is gay because Sherlock said they are. Now he has to go on a double-date with his sister and so called ‘boyfriend’.

“You complete asshole.” John growled through gritted teeth.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh please John, everyone assumes anyway, might as well have some fun.”

John balled his fists together and closed his eyes, counting to three in his head. So this is Sherlocks way of being ‘not bored’, well John will not have any of it. He thinks he has taken the bullet-filled walls, explosive experiments, almost eating dead body parts, and playing the violin at three in the morning pretty well. But this? This is taking it too far.

“Sherlock, you call my sister right now and tell her that we are not together and that it was a joke. Tell her we can’t go out on Saturday and apologize for being a complete git.”

“And why would I do such a thing?” He asked smugly.

“Because you got me into this.”

“No, you got yourself into this because you wouldn’t call her back. She wouldn’t have shown up otherwise.” He deadpanned.

John stared at him. “You’re the one who said we are gay.” He pointed out.

“No, Mrs. Hudson did. I simply went along.”

“Sherlock-”

“John.” Sherlock challenged, like his sister had earlier.

John rubbed his temples with his fingers. This is all too much for one morning. With a sigh, he spoke only once more to Sherlock for the entire morning. “Just, clean this mess up.” And John left to the bathroom feeling utterly defeated and exhausted.

The tingling in the hand Sherlock held never faded for the rest of the day.


	5. John was hit on

This was nowhere near the time Sherlock was hit on. John had convinced Sherlock to go to the pub with he and Greg after a long day, and finally closing a case that had taken them weeks. The three of them sat together in a corner booth and the bartender brought them beers. Sherlock, shockingly enough, downed his to less than half a glass while Greg and John sipped theirs and watched in surprise.

“You alright there, Sherlock?” Greg asked in slight concern.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Sherlock frowned at him, his eyes screaming that Greg is an idiot for asking such a thing. John shook his head and looked away; he’s long given up on properly communicating with Sherlock during this case. He has been more difficult than usual, probably because of the time it’s taken to find this killer; and that is not to mention that the killer was the most obvious and pulled a fast one on the yard and Sherlock. Neither parties were too thrilled about that, Sherlock appearing the most angry.

So the more John thinks about it, the more it makes sense that Sherlock agreed to come to the pub and is now finishing off his first beer.

Greg sighed and dropped the subject. He turned and looked at John and began talking about his latest problem with his soon-to-be-ex-wife.   
This is typically how a night goes between them, they discuss real, normal subjects that John can never talk about with Sherlock. It is nice to have a break from all the genius-slash-crazy that Sherlock brings to the table. Although this is not to say that he doesn’t enjoy it, he prefers his life with Sherlock over any other life, but sometimes it is good for him to have a break and clear his mind with Greg.

Halfway through the night, Sherlock three beers in, and John was explaining his most gruesome experience in his army days, was when things took a turn for the worst.

The pub was getting more crowded and filled by the minute, men and women alike, all seemingly single and flirting with one another. This is usually the time when John would get up and mingle to see what woman he can court into sleeping with him, but he is not alone tonight so it doesn’t look like he will be getting very lucky in that department.

That is until a very attractive woman around John’s age approached the table. She has dark hair, blue eyes and fair skin; it is an interesting combination that feels familiar to John. Maybe he knows her? Or not, perhaps John has had a bit too much to drink, then again he has only had two beers so that couldn’t be it—despite John beginning to feel the warm stirrings of tipsiness.

“Hiya.” She spoke to John in a sing-song voice. God, this woman has the voice of an angel. “I’m Sheryl.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger and leaned against the table top looking down at John and completely disregarding the other two men with him.

“John.” John said with a smile. “May I buy you a drink?”

“John.” Greg cut in urgently and suddenly John was pulled from his infatuated gaze to look at his friend across from him. “What are you doing?”

John frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Something wrong?” The woman asked innocently and flipped her silky hair behind her shoulder. _God, she was gorgeous._

“In front of Sherlock?” Greg scolded John, and John only began to grow even more confused. Greg sighed in exasperation and turned to the woman. “Sorry sweetheart he is taken.”

She cocked her head to one side and John would be damned if that wasn’t the most adorable thing he has ever seen. “Oh?” She says looking at Greg for the first time. “Hasn’t stopped anyone before.” She smirked mischievously. _Oh that mouth._

“Well it stops him. He doesn’t swing your way, love.” Greg said, all seriousness in his tone.

The woman looked between Greg and John and then Sherlock who was sitting quietly in the corner beside John. Suddenly it dawned on Sheryl what Greg is trying to say. “O-oh.” She stuttered. “I apologize.” And with that, she quickly ran back to her friends on the other side of the bar.  
It took John all of ten seconds after she was gone for him to actually process what had just happened.

“Wha- what the hell?” John looked at Greg. “I. Am. Not. Gay. Greg.” John enunciated each word sharply to him. “You just ruined what could have been a very satisfying and memorable night for me.” 

Greg looked sincerely confused. “John, are you feeling alright?”

“Are _you_ feeling alright?” John shot back.

“You’re avoiding the question with another question.”

John groaned loudly and put his head in his hands. “I’m either too drunk or not enough.” He mumbled to himself.

“Well your boyfriend looks plastered.” Greg stated, apparently hearing John.

John looked up and glared at Greg before looking over at Sherlock who had four empty beer glasses in front of him and was leaning heavily against the wall of the booth. His body and features seemingly lost, though his eyes seemed to be at attention to his surroundings.

John locked eyes with him and Sherlock smirked. “I-I told chuu, ever-r-ryone just assumesss.” He slurred, remembering to when Johns sister showed up.  
John put his face into his hands. He is never going to win this battle. At this point, John is wondering if there is something about his physical appearance that screams gay because this is just getting absolutely ridiculous.

John looked over at the woman across at the bar. Her figure is slim, tall, hair curled to her shoulders, eyes an icy blue color, porcelain skin… it all reminded John of something and he was immediately attracted to it… but what was it?

…Oh God. John’s eyes widened as it dawned on him. _Ohgodohgodohgod._

What’s worse is that her name is _Sheryl._

Sheryl… Sherlock. _Oh Christ._

And John is suddenly convinced that Sheryl is the female version of Sherlock.


	6. Angelo's Restaurant

John supposes there isn’t a specific time for this experience. Ever since day one, Angelo has always assumed John and Sherlock are together.

Like the first time, whenever they walk through the door, Angelo’s face lights up and he seats them at the table near the window (if it is open at that time) and insists on getting a candle because ‘it’s more romantic’.

No matter how many times John has corrected Angelo, he completely ignores John or talks over him like he isn't even speaking. It’s a bit annoying really, if Angelo wasn't such a nice guy with fantastic food, he may have stopped going there. But when John can’t get Sherlock to agree on any kind of food, Angelo’s is the best place he can get Sherlock to eat. It’s a sacrifice really, suffer under the assumption by all the employees that he is gay, so his best friend doesn't starve himself.

One night John couldn’t get Sherlock to agree on anything for dinner and finally suggested Angelo’s, which Sherlock accepted with a huff, John smirked slightly knowing full-well that Sherlock wouldn't turn down Angelo’s, he never does.

Per usual, they arrive and greet Angelo with a smile, he seats them at the available table by the window and scurries off for the candle. He doesn’t even say he is going to retrieve it anymore, he just does—but John still gives hopeless attempts at explaining they are not a couple.

The candle is lit, flickering between the two of them. The contrast of the orange flame on Sherlock’s black, blue and white features is an interesting contrast and John noticed the way Sherlock’s eyes twinkle every time he looks at John through the flame.

Angelo brings them their drinks, and puts in their order when Sherlock states ‘the usual.’

The night goes as it normally does. Sherlock and John talk about everything there is to know and absolutely nothing all at once, because this is Sherlock and he can tell you about the world or simply say nothing, and John will know he is just deducing the couple next to their table.

It’s amazing really, the way Sherlock works, and the way John can work with him. Like magnets, the two of them move with each other, one moves and so does the other. Never drifting apart but never coming completely together.

John would never think of the two of them in this way, John sees them as close friends and nothing more. Close friends who happen to live together, bicker like a married couple, have joint bank accounts, work together, and save each other in more ways than one.

No, they are nothing more than friends and John does not see how they can be misread for anything else.


	7. Holmes Manor

It all started with Mycroft, the bastard! John swears he lives and breathes to antagonize his brother and everyone around him. AKA, John himself.

“Evening gentlemen.” Mycroft greets as he walks into their flat, uninvited. John had just been typing up their most recent case on the website and Sherlock had been in their kitchen doing god knows what.

Mycroft stood in between the kitchen and living space to have both of their attention, though he received no acknowledgement from either.   
Mycroft sighed and turned to face Sherlock, leaning on his umbrella heavily. “We have been summoned.” He states to Sherlock. “All… _three_ of us.”

That got Sherlock’s attention, Johns as well, both for two different reasons. “What?” John breaks the silence with a frown at Mycroft, and suddenly he is watching a stare down between both brothers. Sherlock’s features are unwavering, and so are Mycroft’s. It's almost as if they are having a conversation in their minds, John wouldn’t be surprised if they were. Sherlock’s features started to morph into something else, something looking along the lines of pleading, and then defeat. Sherlock slumped in his seat and looked away. Mycroft stood proudly and flicked his umbrella up and onto his shoulder. “I’ll see you both at the Manor tomorrow night, six o’clock sharp. Do not be late,” Mycroft dropped his voice low and ominous, “You know how she gets.” And with that Mycroft left. Sherlock and John said nothing until the front door opened and closed.

“What the hell was that? Who is he talking about?” John started in on Sherlock who only sighed in annoyance. Whoever it is, it is clear to John that Sherlock wants no part of it.

“Dinner plans.” Sherlock stated, and got up from his chair to walk into the main room and put on his coat. “And now I am going out. It is really quite obvious, John.” Sherlock started wrapping the scarf around his neck.

“But with who? And where are you going?” John was half tempted to get up and follow Sherlock, if only to get some sort of answer out of him. But this is Sherlock, John knows better than to expect answers.

“Out. Don't wait up.” And Sherlock was gone.

\---  
   
The next day, John was still in the dark. Even more so when he discovered an entire outfit was hanging on his dresser. John frowned, confused at first until he came to the conclusion that he is going to dinner, formal apparently, which is still all the more confusing.

It’s not so formal to need a full tux or suit, but something more along the lines of Sherlock’s clothing on a daily basis. The pants are a sleek black and the shirt is a shade of dark blue, the tie hanging over the shirt is a smooth black. When John glances at the floor, he sees shining black shoes and thin black socks to match.

Suddenly John is hit with the revelation that this is where Sherlock had disappeared to yesterday. Somehow he is not surprised that Sherlock knows his sizes, because this is Sherlock and he can deduce your clothing size from just one glance. John is more surprised, however, that Sherlock had given in to his brother to attend this event.

When the night came around, John showered and dressed himself. Yes, he was correct in assuming that the sizes are right, they’re dead on in fact. John looked in the mirror and his eyebrows shot up. The clothing fit him like a glove, tight in all the right places and loose where they needed to be. The pants and shirt are the perfect length. Johns blue eyes stand out with the dark blue of his shirt. The tie, however, was making Johns neck itch and he had an urge to just pull it off.

“Don’t even think about it.” John heard Sherlock in the doorway. He turned and looked at him, Sherlock looks absolutely no different than usual, the only difference is his shirt is all black instead of another color. He has the top few buttons undone exposing his white skin that seems to look even whiter in contrast to his all black attire.

“Why do _I_ have to wear a tie?”

Sherlock looked at him like he is genuinely offended. “I think it looks good.”

John looked back in the mirror, he does look amazing.

“Fine.” He sighed. “Let’s go.”

They took a cab to the outskirts of the city. The further they drove, the more expensive the homes; and the more anxious Sherlock seemed to become. He didn’t stop shaking his leg, and as they turned a corner, he started biting at his finger nails. John, becoming increasingly annoyed with him, as well as his own emotions for suddenly feeling a bit fond over the man beside him, placed a hand on Sherlock’s knee to make it stop shaking. At the contact, it stopped and Sherlock looked at the hand and then at John.

“Just relax.” John said in a soothing voice. _Where did that come from?_

Sherlock sat still and stared at John, slowly beginning to relax a bit. Neither of them moved until they were stopped in front of a gate.

“Here.” Said the cabbie. John paid as Sherlock slowly got out and went to the gate. When John approached, Sherlock was typing something into the metal keypad built into the stone wall next to the artfully designed iron gates.

There was a beep and the gates rattled open. Sherlock led the way up the large driveway. It looked like walking through a path in a forest. Large oak trees lined the drive all the way up, and stopped once they reached the clearing where the driveway circled around a median of grass and grand water fountain. Beyond that they reached the steps of the extravagant white mansion.

It wasn’t until they reached the door that John saw the plaque identifying the residents of this home.

**HOLMES MANOR  
House of Siger and Violet Holmes**

Johns eyes widened with an epiphany, so that’s why Sherlock had been so nervous and why he couldn’t say no. Even now, Sherlock bounced on one leg. John would’ve stopped him if it wasn’t for his own sudden nerves sneaking their way into his gut. He is about to meet Sherlock’s parents.

The door swung open and there stood Mycroft, hands behind his back and no umbrella. “Brother, Doctor Watson, both right on time.” Mycroft gave a fake smile and turned to let them inside. Suddenly, John came to the realization that he too was requested to be here. How could Sherlocks parents know about him? Unless they are some part of the government like Mycroft? Or the blog. John would like to think it’s the latter.

Sherlock and John were led into the large foyer where they could remove their coats and place them in the closet off to the left. Mycroft led them through the second doorway and down three steps which opened up to a large sitting space with a glowing fireplace and some very traditional looking furniture consisting of yellow, red, and brown tones. It felt warm and cozy, but something about it all didn't seem quite as homey as it should. Nothing like Baker Street or his own home growing up. Again, John is wondering what he is getting himself into.

Far to the left, past the fireplace is a corridor that they are led through, John only glanced at the other two passages breaking off from the room to wonder where they lead. John considered what it would be like just to wander the mansion, but also concluded that he would get lost.Thinking on it further, he wouldn't be surprised if he wandered into a library and pulled out a book that revealed a secret door that could very possibly trap him inside. Another reason why the Manor feels eerie. 

John and Sherlock are led through the archway and into a massive kitchen where a group of rushing butlers, dressed in black and white, are cooking and preparing their meal. Past that and through a large door, they enter the dining room which seems to be where the hosts are seated. Sherlock slows his pace slightly, so slightly that John wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been walking so close to him. He is out of his element here, that much is obvious, but so is John. Without thinking, John takes Sherlocks wrist and gives him a reassuring squeeze and releases, quick enough so no one would notice, not that anyone was paying much attention anyway.

At either head of the table was a man and a woman, Siger and Violet Holmes John assumes, and by god if the house wasn't intimidating enough, looking at the owners was a whole new level of posh. The woman wore white pearls and her dark greying hair is pulled back into curls behind her head. Her clothing is golden and elegant, John could've easily mistaken her for someone very close with the Queen. With where Mycroft stands in his career, that wouldn't be too surprising actually.

The man is the scariest to look at, he has dark slicked-back hair and sharp features, Sherlock obviously takes after him, as Mycroft does their mother with more delicate shapes (not that John would _ever_ call or describe a Holmes as _delicate_ ). The man stared at John as he took the seat Mycroft pulled out for him, luckily or unluckily, it is in between Sherlock and Mycroft. Across from the three of them are people John doesn't recognize, distant relatives?  
“Nice of you to join us for once, William.” _William?_ Siger spoke in a low voice. Beside him, John could feel Sherlock tense up. “And it’s about time we met your mate.” Suddenly all eyes are glued on John, and he actually feels like he could sink into the high-back of this ridiculously large chair. Instead, he looks Siger dead in the eye and sits up tall. He was a soldier for god sakes, he will not stand down to a stranger with glossy hair and an expensive suit!

“Doctor John Watson.” He introduces himself.

“Yes, we know who you are.” Speaks Violet on the other side of the table with a soft and gentle voice that is easily holding a tone of authority. “We have read the blog.”

John sees Sherlock shift in his seat from his peripheral vision.

“Oh?” John states. He can’t help but feel how incredibly awkward this entire table is, and he fears it is only going to get worse.

“Yes, it is very-”

“John have you met my cousins and uncle?” Sherlock cuts in urgently and sits up straight to point to the three people across from them, who were watching the exchange with amusement. “Over there is my cousin Earnest and that’s her twin brother Eugene.” Sherlock points from left to right. “And this is my Uncle Frederick.”

“Pleasure to meet you all.” John smiles kindly at them, Earnest looks at him with a cock of her head, brown hair falling around her face and a grin exposing straight teeth. She isn't dressed as nearly as pristine as the Holmes elders, and neither is her brother Eugene who only glares at John, their hair seems to be the only resemblance of the two. Uncle Frederick examines him like Sherlock does a bacteria, his eyes are scrutinizing and his lips in a firm line.

“You as well.” Earnest says in a soft voice that sent shivers down Johns neck, definitely not in the way the woman seemed to intend.

“Stop it.” Eugene urges. “You know he is taken.”

John frowns, and is about to respond when the food is served. Some sort of fish that looks rather expensive and tastes even more so. It’s delicious.

“So Mikey, how is work?” Earnest begins when she takes a sip of wine.

“I told you not to call me that.” Mycroft snaps, politely. “It is well.” He answers without elaborating, mimicking Earnest by taking a sip from his glass.

“Care to share more juicy details?” She pushes.

“Earnest, you know he cannot disclose that sort of information with you.” Her father scolds, folding his napkin in his lap.

She rolls her eyes, and John is shocked that no one has reprimanded her for such inelegance.

“Fine.” She turns to Sherlock. “How are the cases going ‘lockie?” She asks him.

John can’t help the giggle that escapes him and turns to Sherlock. “‘Lockie?”

“Don’t start. We will never speak of this meal again.” Sherlock angrily whispers back and then turns his attention to his cousin. “They’re slow coming but going as expected. If you have been on the blog recently you will see the case we wrapped up yesterday.” Sherlock kindly glared at her.

“I certainly did, it started two weeks ago. The one with the break-in and mugging. No traces of evidence with either, but clearly committed by the same person. Three bodies, one in the alley around the corner and two in the bar.”

“Wrong, they weren't committed by the same person. If you did more than just _glance_ at the blog then you would know that they are two completely separate crimes and were misjudged by the police in thinking they were connected based on their close proximity.” Sherlock corrected her.

“And misjudged by you.” Eugene cuts in. “That’s why the case took so long to close, you were all looking at it wrong.”

Sherlock says nothing and takes a large gulp of his wine. John can’t help but notice that Sherlock hasn't even touched his food, not that Sherlock ever does. Although every meal that seems to pass, John can’t help his concern for his flatmate.

John could hear Violet sigh when Eugene finished speaking, and Sherlock is once again tense next to him. It doesn't take a Holmes to read the tension between Sherlock and his family.

The chairs are close enough to one another that John is able to reach under and squeeze Sherlocks knee undetected, for reassurance. Sherlock reacts by grabbing Johns hand tightly and holding it, refusing to let go.

“Enough with the work talk.” Frederick states irritably. 

“I agree.” Earnest cuts in. “Tell us how your relationship is going.” She leans forward on her hands and stares directly at John and Sherlock. John frowns, and Sherlock shifts uncomfortably.

“Sorry?” John speaks first. He swore he could see Mycroft restrain a chuckle.

“You and ‘Lockie!” She exclaims. “When did you two first start dating? Was it love at first sight? Or did it take some time? I imagine the latter given ‘Lockies tendencies to be,” She pondered a moment. “Psychotic.” 

John blinks at her. The entire room is silent. “He’s not a psychopath.” John managed to blurt out. “And we’re not together.”

Earnest looks confused. “Mycroft says otherwise…” She slowly drifts off as she is given a pointed stare from Mycroft. Suddenly Sherlock is on his feet.

“Is that what this whole thing is about?” Sherlock nearly yells. “Another one of your schemes to cause more problems in this family, Mycroft?” 

Mycroft sighs but doesn't stand up, John is staring at him still confused about what is actually happening.

“It is not a scheme, Sherlock. It is, in some form, the truth. I thought it best if the family knew-”

“How is that the truth?” John buts in. “I’m not gay.” John states with anger, standing up himself.

“Irrelevant. I just thought mummy and daddy would want to meet the man their son has moved in with and taken a liking-”

“That’s enough, Mycroft. That is all a lie and you know it.” Their mother gasps in shock but John is pretty well convinced it’s an act.

“Sherlock-”

“How about you tell them about you and Lestrade.” Sherlock says and the room goes quiet once more, Mycroft paled immediately.

“What?” John says and looks at Sherlock who only stares and observes Mycrofts reaction. John follows his gaze, and very slowly does he begin to understand. “You and Greg?”

The room grew so tense that John thought he could pick up his butter knife and cut clean through it. He could see Earnest with her mouth agape and Eugene eating ferociously and watching the scene intently. John was out of view of Frederick and Violet but he could definitely see Siger who is practically fuming.

“A man? I thought you were above this?” Siger demands of Mycroft. Mycroft stays quiet.

“Mycroft.” Violet begins. “Is this true?”

Silence.

Violet lets out a rough cry. “And I was already planning your future. Your children, and the beautiful wedding with your wife in my lovely wedding gown.”

Mycroft stays quiet and so does the rest of the room.

The silence continues, and suddenly John is being pulled from the table by his shoulder. John doesn't fight it, he just lets himself be guided through the maze of halls and outside into the fresh air. They both ignored Sigers call for ‘William’ to return.

Sherlock says nothing on the way back from the Manor, and neither does John. Both of them are too engrossed in their thoughts for completely different reasons. Sherlock can’t help but feel absolutely humiliated, and wished desperately that he could've just told Mycroft no to dinner. He is so ashamed that he didn't have enough power to spit out no and protect John from the hell that is the Holmes family.

John, on the other hand, is leaning against the window with the same words echoing in his head. _A man? I thought you were above this?_

As if being gay is a disease. Is this what would happen to John if he were gay and came out? Is this something Sherlock had to go through (if he is gay)? Do people really have to endure such hateful words? From parents, no less. Johns not sure he likes the answer.

Yes people go through this, and yes it would happen to him if he were gay. Though he most certainly is not gay. It is so wrong and intimidating that John actually understands why people are in the closet. Why Harry hid for so long, though their parents didn't seem to care all that much to Harrys preferences, they were supportive all the way through.

The cab pulled up to Baker Street and the two climbed the stairs silently. Sherlock went and laid down on the couch while John went and made tea, it was a habit the two of them picked up on almost every time they got back to the flat. This time though, it feels different. Both John and Sherlock feel utterly defeated in their own thoughts.

John brought Sherlock his tea, setting it on the coffee table beside him, and made to walk up to his room when Sherlock stopped him.  
“I’m sorry.”

John stopped instantly at the words for two reasons. One, he has nothing to be sorry for and two, Sherlock never apologizes, so something must really be nagging at him.

“For what?” John asks gently, turning to look at him.

The detective lay flat on his back, hands on his chest and eyes staring at his tea mug. “I did expect it to turn out horribly, but I didn't expect that.”

John sighed. “It’s not your fault Sherlock.”

He didn't respond. John turned and walked to the door, then stopped in the frame as another thought occurred to him, “Who is William?” 

At that, Sherlock smiled. "A topic for another day."

John didn't respond, but he settled for a head nod and went upstairs to his room. It was a strange night, and John felt the only way to fix this awkward feeling is sleep.

And sleep he did.


	8. Irene Adler

“We’re not a couple.”

“Yes you are.”

Of all the times John has been accused of being gay with Sherlock, never has someone argued with such confidence and conviction. John refuses to count his sister because she lives to terrorize John, and she never says it in a serious tone (even though she is being serious). But this, this is so convincing even John isn't sure how to respond. It’s like she knows something that he doesn't. Those eyes are boring into him as if she is reading his very soul. But she is wrong, because if she could see so deep into John then she would know that he and Sherlock are not together, and never will be.

He hardly heard her as she spoke. “There. ‘I’m not dead. Let’s have dinner.’” She made an act of pushing send. John pressed his lips into a fine line, still bent out of shape over her conviction of his sexuality, and utter inability to care about Sherlocks feelings for her. How could she even do this to him? John knows Sherlock, he will act his part of indifference but it is so clear he is anything but. If her ‘death’ didn't crush him enough, this certainly will. She is not playing fair, it is one thing to mess with Sherlocks mind, but his heart? 

“Who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes,” John found himself saying, almost answering his own thoughts. And then as a side note, “But for the record, if any one out there still cares, I’m not actually gay.”

“Well, I am.” Irene smirked. “Look at us both.” _Condescending_ smirk. 

John scoffs and suddenly realizes how terribly he despises this woman.

A noise filled the air just then, a sound that has, unfortunately, become familiar in recent days. A breathy sigh, like a moan. Irenes moan.   
John and Irene stared at each other wide-eyed. There is only one place John has ever heard that moan. _Shit_.

John made to follow the sound, but Irene put her hand up and gave him a look. John stopped and stared in the direction Sherlock went, feeling his heart break for his friend. John swore he would kill this woman if it weren't for Sherlock.

They stood there waiting until they were sure he was gone. And soon enough, the two of them departed. Johns heart didn't stop aching the whole drive home.


	9. The Watsons

If John ever said this was similar to the time when he met Sherlocks family, that would mean he is either lying or being extremely subtle. The overall experience was the same, but with a few minor differences.

Like the way Johns family just _gushed_ over the two of them.

“This is a bad idea.” John said as they sat in the back of a cab on their way to Johns parents house.

“I can guarantee this wont be anything like your encounter with my family.” Sherlock deadpanned.

“How could you possibly know that?” John turned to him. “For all you know my parents could be like yours, complete homophobes.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Please John, do not question my deductions. The personality traits of you and your sister are enough for me to know that your parents are kind people. Besides, I highly doubt that your sister would be so happily open about her relationship if things didn't go well at home about it.”

John scowled. Of course Sherlock is right. He is always right. Johns parents are good-hearted and completely loving. It isn't a surprise that they invited he and Sherlock for a family lunch. They just have to know the brilliant man that John is constantly blogging about.

“On the contrary, there are a lot of people who are nothing like their parents.” John stated, feeling contentious. 

Sherlock scoffed. “If that is what you would like to believe, John.”

John wanted to spit out a witty retort but came up short. There is no arguing with Sherlock—well, there is no _winning_ an argument with Sherlock.

Twenty minutes in a silent cab later, they are parked outside a small and quaint looking home in a suburban neighborhood. John paid the cab fair and followed out Sherlock who started taking in his surroundings: _Iron fence around the home, hedges lining the front of them. The house itself is a two-story, well maintained for it being a house that John grew up in. Recently painted white, previously yellow based on the other homes on the block. Flowers planted in front of the porch, grass recently trimmed, the faint sound of wind chimes could be heard near the swinging bench on the patio._

John led Sherlock up to the front door and turned to him. “You ready?” Sherlock gave him a _really John_ look and John rolled his eyes despite his utter nervousness. “Right then.” He said and rang the doorbell.

The door opened and John could hear a squeak from behind the screen door and suddenly John is leaping out of the way of it, and getting tackled into a hug. “Johnny!” Harry exclaimed excitedly.

“Harry.” John greeted exasperated. Sherlock was trying his very best to not look uncomfortable. John looked beyond the door to see a short-haired brunette leaning against the door frame. Clara.

“Harry let him breathe.” She laughed. Harry bounced back and ruffled Johns hair then turned to Sherlock to do the same thing she did to John.   
If seeing Sherlock Holmes attacked by his sister for a hug wasn't the funniest damn thing he has ever seen then he is a duck and Harry is straight. Sherlock tensed-up, frozen, and his facial features changed from shock to complete horror as he realized what is happening. Sherlock looked over to John pleadingly and John couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from the pit of his stomach. John missed the glare that Sherlock shot him, though it was a bit half-hearted.

John greeted Clara with a much more tame hug and a moment later, John introduced the woman to Sherlock as Clara, Harrys wife. 

The four of them went inside, Harry and Clara holding hands as they walked down the hall to the kitchen. John stopped and removed his jacket, Sherlock following his lead, and placed the two on the coat rack. 

“It’s not too late to turn back.” John whispered to Sherlock.

“I think it is.” Sherlock said, trying very hard to hide his regret. “Your sister just may hunt us down and drag us back here.”

John smirked “Unfortunately, I think you may be right.”

The two of them walked in the direction Harry and Clara wandered off in and entered a pleasant looking kitchen and dining room. The color scheme could very much resemble a grandparents house out in the country side. White and peach danced around the room, from the walls down to the color of the table cloth and plates. A glass sliding door is open wide, letting in the cool breeze of autumn. Harry and Clara are outside at the large oak tree, pushing each other on the tire swing. John remembered when they first got the swing, he had wanted a tree house, but his father had told him the branches weren't quite right to build one, so they got a tire swing instead. A swing that, even now, Harry hogs with all her might. 

Johns mother is in the kitchen cooking up their meal, she is shorter, with graying hair that was once bright blonde like Johns and Harrys, cut down to brush her jaw. She’s wearing a long jean skirt and floral top. 

John cleared his throat to get his mothers attention. She turned around and a large smile lit up her gentle face. 

“John.” She wiped her hands on one of the flannel rags and walked over to give her son a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Oh I feel like I haven't seen you in ages.” She placed her hands on his arms and looked him over fondly.

John gave her his sweet smile. “Yes it has been far too long.” John turned to Sherlock then, and Sherlock stepped forward extending his hand.

“Sherlock Hol-”

Johns mom swat at his hand and went in for a hug, surprising him, and John grinned at Sherlocks typical reaction. “Oh Sherlock no need to be formal here. I feel like I already know you through Johns blog.”

Sherlock glanced at John… nervously? No, Sherlock Holmes does not get nervous. 

“Oh. Well I can hardly say the blog does me much justice.” Sherlock laughed awkwardly.

“Oh nonsense.” His mother commented and squeezed Sherlocks arm. “Would either of you like some lemonade? I’ve just about finished up lunch.”

“I think we're alright, tha-” John was refusing politely, but his mother had already went to the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of yellow liquid, ignoring his protests. John sighed and glanced at Sherlock, who was looking about the room curiously, with no hint that he was even paying attention.

She handed them both glasses of lemonade, breaking Sherlock from his thoughts to take it and thank her. Johns mother beamed, much like John did. Sherlock doesn't thank anyone.

“Don't thank me, sweetheart, we’re practically family!” She exclaimed.

“Well, I appreciate the hospitality regardless.” Sherlock stated, taking a sip of the lemonade. “My, this is remarkable. How did you manage this?” Sherlock asked in amazement.

“Oh, John where ever did you find this one?” She looked at John giddily and John just smiled awkwardly, not quite sure what is happening. She turned back to Sherlock. “I made it myself, I’ll show you if you’d like?”

“I’d love that.” Sherlock said and the two of them went over to the counter, leaving John in the dining room staring off after them. 

It took John all of 30 seconds to shake his confused thoughts. Sherlock is never nice, it is so out of character that John had to just shake his head and move on, he can question his flatmate later.

Outside, John watched Clara and Harry spin around on the swing, and found his father raking the falling leaves into a large orange and brown pile.

“Dad?” John called, walking down the steps to his father. The older man looked up and grinned.

“John, my boy!” He exclaimed and came up to him for a body crushing hug. John had to try very hard not to spill all his lemonade on the two of them. 

His father pulled away and gave him a good slap to the shoulder. “How have you been, son?”

“I’ve been good,” John sighed and looked up to the house. “Really good actually.”

His father smiled gently. “That partner of yours treating you right, then?” He questioned suddenly in defense, but without malice. That’s strange.

“Oh yes!” Harry answered before John could, rushing up behind the two of them. “I’m sure Sherlock treats him all _sorts_ of right.” She smirked and nudged Johns side.

“Harry!” Clara and John scolded at once. Their father laughed just as Sherlock came bounding out the back door and down the steps of the porch.

“John!” Sherlock exclaimed, pushing his way through to stand directly in front of him. “You wont believe this!”

“What is it?” John asked in immediate concern.

“Bees John!” Sherlock said excitedly, eyes positively glowing.

John frowned, not quite following. “Bees?”

“Yes! For the lemonade! Your mother hand squeezes her lemons and then takes fresh honey from the bees and makes her lemonade! It’s wonderful!” 

John could hear Harry giggling in the background, he wanted to glare at her but she and Clara had turned and went back inside; just as their mother called them in for lunch. John was about to follow, pondering why Sherlock is so excited about honeybees, but got caught up in his father speaking.

“That’s my Lydia, she makes only the best in the kitchen with the most pure ingredients.” Johns father said, taking Sherlocks intense attention from John to his father. “I’m Daniel, by the way. You must be the famous Sherlock Holmes.” Daniel extended his hand to Sherlock who took it and smiled politely.

“I am. Might I say you have a very intelligent wife.” John blinked. What-

Daniel laughed hearty. “Why yes, I truly do. You should see what she does with her tea.”

“Boys!” She called again from the doorway.

“Speaking of,” Daniel smiled fondly. “Best get up there.” 

The three of them made their way up the porch and through the door. Inside, Harry and Clara are already seated and Lydia is placing their lunch on the table.

“Smells delicious, love.” Daniel said and kissed his wife on the cheek.

John took his seat opposite Harry and Sherlock beside him on the left. His mother sat at one head of the table, and his father took the other, between Clara and Sherlock. 

Once everyone was seated, Harry was the first to grab at food, followed steadily by the rest of the table. Everyones plates held hefty amounts of food except for Sherlocks, which held a roll and some green beans. 

John leaned over and whispered. “You will eat more than that, wont you?” 

“Not hungry.” Sherlock grumbled lowly. 

“You haven't eaten in two days, Sherlock.” John argued.

“John,” Lydia cut it. “Manners. No whispering at the table.” She scolded.

John leaned back with a quiet huff and focused on cutting into his chicken.

“It’s alright mom,” Harry said. “John is just telling Sherlock all the sinful things he is going to do to him later.” She spoke the words like they are the most casual lunch conversation and took a bite of her roll. Johns fork clattered to his plate and he could hear his fathers laughter echo loudly around the table.

“Harriet Watson.” His mother began. “We are eating.”

“But it’s true.” Harry exclaimed in amusement.

“Is not!” John found his voice and glared heavily at his sister. “I’m. Not. Gay.”

Everyone at the table was silent then, Sherlock didn't seem to move or even breathe through the entire exchange, his father looked amused, Clara uncomfortable, mother… shocked? Strange. And Harry? Oh, Harry looks downright pleased with herself.

“Sweetie, what on earth do you mean?” Johns mom spoke gently beside him. 

John frowned. 

“He’s been having trouble admitting it aloud.” Sherlock started, poking at his untouched food. John looked at him in confusion. 

“Oh.” His mother gasped, like that is the answer to everything. “Oh, sweetie.” She suddenly took Johns hand on the table. “You don't have to hide here, we all love you for who you are.” She confirmed with nothing but love and sympathy in her gaze. It reminded John of the time he accidentally broke her favorite vase and cried for hours about how sorry he was. She forgave him, like always, and comforted him with that same look she is giving him now.

And for that reason, it made John snap.

He pulled his hand free from his mothers grasp and slammed it back onto the tabletop, making the silverware and glasses vibrate loudly.

“I AM NOT GAY!” John announced loudly. “I’m am telling you all right now, I'm not. Harry I am sick of you going around and announcing my false sexuality to everyone. And Sherlock there is no need to continue encouraging her.” John found his angry eyes wondering to everyone at the table, to make sure they all understood the severity and seriousness of his words.

Sherlock had shrunk back in his seat, looking at no one but his plate, face unreadable. Harry went back to eating, unfazed by Johns outburst, and seemingly unconvinced by his statement. That only managed to piss John off further but he bit his tongue. 

The awkward silence was broken shortly after. “Harriet, there is no need to antagonize your brother.” Their mother stated.

Harry rolled her eyes. “But-”

“No buts.” Lydia demanded, and went about eating her cooking.

Harry sighed and forked a piece of chicken forcefully. 

“It is Johns choice if he wants to remain in the closet.” Lydia continued plainly.

John clenched his teeth and fisted his hand under the table. _And they wonder why I never call…_

“Just like old times.” Johns father stated in amusement, to no one in particular.

The rest of lunch was eaten in silence. Sherlock didn't finish his plate.


	10. Moriarty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness! I was focusing on school, but now I'm out so don't let me give you anymore excuses ;) The next one should be up shortly, hope you all enjoy!

When it came to Moriarty, nothing was more maddening. John was about ready to explode (pun not intended thank you very much) with how irritating things came to be. It is one thing to be strapped to a bomb, and another to force your friend to ‘kill’ himself.

Now, anything in regards to Moriarty John noticeably dismisses the subject altogether for more than just one reason.

The most important one is Sherlock. John thought he was dead for years and it nearly ended John. He sat in the flat without moving for days on end and when he actually left the flat, it was to speak to a grave stone. To say John was broken is an understatement. He couldn't function, couldn't work, couldn't eat or sleep, sometimes he had to consciously remind himself to breathe. Sherlock had become his everything, and John was livid that he let himself grow so attached to the point where his life revolved around the man. 

But god, he didn't care. It was Sherlock. The annoying man that played whimsical music in the middle of the night with his violin, the annoying man that shot holes in the wall because he was bored. The annoying man that thought everyone else was beneath him and he was a remarkable genius, which he was. A remarkable genius because of his impossible brain, followed by brilliant deductions falling from that smart mouth.

But that is all beside the point, because none of it matters now. Sherlock is back, and any strange thoughts and feelings John may have had while his friend was away can be justified as mourning. Everyones judgement is impaired once someone dies. 

It is clear now that Moriarty went out of his way to make sure John knew that.

Once Sherlock, well, went away, Moriarty was gone as well but he left behind a trail that endlessly tormented John. 

Every day he would receive a letter, starting the morning after Sherlock left.

The first letter was simple:

_Missing him yet, Johnny boy?_

The second letter was a bit more explanatory:

_It is a shame, really, that it has come to this… But after all, I did warn him I would burn his heart. I sincerely doubt he took into consideration that by taking him, I would be taking his dear boyfriend as well. Poor soul, thought he was saving you when really he destroyed your very essence. I cannot think of a greater success._

John knew with the first letter who they were coming from. He also knew Moriarty was dead. That left John to wonder what games have been played behind his back, and what game he was involved in with the letters.

Each day he received another, and another.

Day seven:

_Awfully dull life isn't it? Laying around, mourning. No one to chase around London, no one to gaze at wondrously, no one to compliment endlessly._

Day thirty: 

_Did you and Sherlock sleep together? After all the time you've spent flirting at crime scenes, and teasing him by not admitting your love for him, I think that sexual tension would get built-up to some breaking point._

Day thirty-one:

_I certainly slept with him..._

Day thirty-two:

_Just kidding._

John was a whirlwind of emotions after Sherlocks death, he was not seeing things clearly. The letters from Moriarty only managed to confuse and anger him more, and they never deviated from one centered viewpoint: he and Sherlock were boyfriends.

Well, if not boyfriends then lovers because apparently John couldn't admit it aloud. 

It was the most ridiculous thing John has ever read in his life, and if he had to be honest, it quite offended him. How dare Moriarty taint his friendship with Sherlock by making it out as a joke? Certainly he is a smart-enough man to know they were nothing more than friends… right?

Wrong, because of letter fifty-three.

This letter wasn't words typed on paper, this time, they were photos. The first photo was of him and Sherlock smiling together at a crime scene, both of them locked eyes with one another. Which means nothing. John was confused, maybe it was Moriartys way of saying he was watching them from the beginning. A form of power-play to let John know that no matter what he did, he wouldn't beat Moriarty.

The second is of Sherlock, looking down at John who is smiling at something, but there is something in Sherlocks eyes that made John question it. He remembers that day clearly, that very conversation even, and he wondered why Sherlock was giving him that look. The look that someone gives when they think the other isn't looking, the look that every female on the planet dreams of being looked at with. It was _the_ look.

And that is why John went to every trusted resource he knew to get the photos tested for credibility. It took four different technicians before John actually believed them. The photos are real, and have not been tampered with in any way, shape, or form.

The third photo is of John looking up at Sherlock. He is clearly lost in thought, mouth agape like he is in the process of giving a deduction. What really caught Johns eye, though, is himself. Much like photo two, he is giving Sherlock _that_ look, and as John stared at the photo, he felt three very distinct emotions. Pain, because this bastard is not only sending photos of his dead best friend, but also of better times. Anger, because this man is playing their friendship like it is some kind of joke. And sadness, because he has never longed for something so much in his life. He wanted nothing more than to go back in time and relive those moments again. 

And despite the sickness of the photos, John kept them. He looked at them every night before he went to sleep, either with tears burning his eyes or a grin spread across his face.

John was in a bad place. There were, brief, times on some nights when he thought Moriarty was right, there was something more. But those nights John had been drinking, and felt his loss the strongest. 

Other nights, John felt he had a clear head and brushed off Moriartys words; after all, he wasn't the first one to say such ridiculous things to them. John and Sherlock were just really close friends, nothing more. 

The last letter came on day one-hundred and three:

_Enough games, Johnny. Do not lie to yourself!_

John never found out why the letters stopped, why that day, and why that message. All he knew was that he was relieved, and he smiled at his and Sherlocks photos the following night.


	11. The Time They're Not

It was something simple that finally made John see clearly. It shouldn't have happened, it was completely reckless, but leave it to Sherlock to do something so absurd. 

The case had brought them to the outskirts of the city to an abandoned farm. Although, saying it was abandoned may have been a misconception.

“You’re sure this is the place?” John questioned Sherlock who glared at him with all the strength of an annoyed teenager. “Right,” John began to reconcile. “what I mean is, are you sure Lestrade said this place is _abandoned_?”

John looked out to the tall green cornstalks, brightly-painted red barn, and fresh flower beds planted outside the house, feeling uncertain that there is no one living here.

“I am positive of Lestrades words, but I am unconvinced he is correct. That man couldn't tell the difference between a-”

“Okay you’ve made your point, Sherlock. Now what do you propose we do? Sneak in through a window? Kick in the barn door?”

“Of course not.” Sherlock scoffed. “We knock.” He stated simply and got out of the car. 

John struggled not to roll his eyes, and got out to follow Sherlock up to the farmhouse door.

Sherlock knocked loudly and incessantly for a full ten seconds before John had to place a hand on his wrist and make him stop. 

“I’m sure they know we’re here now.” John stated. 

After a moment of waiting and listening for signs of life inside, John spoke again. “Maybe no one is home.”

Sherlock glared at the door. “The truck to the right of the house is still here. There is only one set of truck prints in the mud, and the most recent prints were made coming in to the farm, not leaving it. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” John repeated, never ceasing to be amazed by Sherlocks deductions.

“They might be in the barn.” Sherlock was already walking in said direction before he finished the sentence. 

John followed Sherlock down the dirt path towards the barn. It was a bit of a walk, but gave John the time to take-in his surroundings. He noticed the sun was starting to set, he noticed the maize held an orange-like glow to them, he noticed Sherlocks shadow turning from long to nothing as the sun disappeared below the horizon, he felt the light breeze on his skin and watched it ruffle the cornstalks. Given any other situation it may have been a lovely sight, but they are on a case, and the only thing he can focus on now is his partner before him and the barn they are quickly approaching.

Sherlock was inspecting the lock on the barn door when John approached.

“It’s safe to say no one is in there then.” John said over Sherlocks shoulder. Sherlock shook his head and forcefully ran his fingers through his hair. A part of John admired how the pale of his fingers and the black of his curls contrast so nicely, another part wanted to slap himself for it.

“Check the house.” Sherlock said to John, who slightly jumped out of his thoughts. “I’ll check the other side of the barn.”

John nodded and made his way to the farmhouse, trying very hard to forget his train of thought, and thanking the heavens that Sherlock cannot read minds.

John kept his eyes on the house as he walked, ignoring any thoughts he may have about Sherlock and focusing on the task at hand. The house is quiet, no signs of life are indicated. No outside lights are on, nor the inside, but that could be because Sherlock and his ridiculous knocking terrified them into remaining invisible. 

It is not a difficult land to survey. There is a house, a barn, and fields of corn. 

John looked inside one of the house windows. Still no signs of life. Just an empty kitchen with a dry sink a stove turned off and a kettle sitting on top of it. Little puffs of steam coming out of it. The counter is clear except for a toaster and an almost full knife set. John sighed, they will get nowhere with this. 

The light outside is beginning to fade when John hears a bang coming from the barn. He looks over and sees three men, two he does not recognize, the other is Sherlock. And Sherlock is running into the cornfield and away from the men with knives.

_You see but you do not observe._

_Shit._

“Sherlock!” John yells stupidly, both men look, one continues after Sherlock in the corn, the other comes running towards John.

John reaches for the gun, aims and shoots before the man even knew what was happening. He hit the ground in pain. John shot his leg, just in the right spot to impair the use of it. John ran over, took the knife, and went with lightning speed into the corn where he saw Sherlock and his attacker disappear. 

John was also immediate to call Lestrade. There is no way these men are not the killers, and even more so they have attempted to kill he and Sherlock. Certainly if they are not the suspects, then they know something that the police cannot know about. 

John broke through the cornfields and ran. He didn't stop until he was deep within the field. He looked around, down the rows of corn and found nothing. He listened intently for any kind of sound. Nothing. 

_I will not panic_. John thought to himself. _Sherlock is alright, he knows how to handle himself_. Although that did not stop Johns thoughts of Sherlock alone somewhere in the corn bleeding to death. It brought John back to his time in Afghanistan, and his soldiers bleeding out too far from John to reach. He had never felt more helpless in his life, and even more so now because he can’t even _find_ his friend.

It wasn't until the sky was black that he heard the sirens of the police and ambulance. John rushed towards the sound and discovered Lestrade arresting the man that John had shot. A few moments later, John heard rustling by the barn and discovered, to his relief, Sherlock. Although, to Johns dismay, he is fighting hand-on-hand with the second culprit. 

John had just started his sprint over there when he saw it. The knife. By the time John shouted Sherlocks name to warn him, it was too late. John watched as the knife sank into Sherlocks abdomen, forcing him convulsing to the ground. 

John didn't realize he was running to Sherlock until he was on the ground beside his friend, holding the bloody wound. He was vaguely aware of the Yard cuffing the man that stabbed his best friend, but he was too busy repeating his mantra of _you’ll be alright, you’re alright, everything is alright_. Not sure if he is speaking to Sherlock or himself.

Sherlock stared up at John, skin deathly pale, lips red with blood. John felt it difficult to look at, he concentrated on his blood filled hands and keeping the pressure on the wound. 

“J-John.” Sherlock tried to speak. John suddenly realized he was screaming for a medic, and noticed some were running towards him with a gurney. Sherlock grabbed at Johns red soaked hands to get his full attention. “Bit n-not good?” He asked, a drop of blood spilled from the side of his lip.

John looked at him in pure shock. Leave it to Sherlock to not only get stabbed, but to also question it to be a ‘bit not good’. 

“No.” John answered, a slight chuckle falling with the word (or was it a withheld sob)? “Definitely a bit not good.” John smiled down at his friend, who smiled faintly back.

The paramedics arrived with a gurney and wheeled Sherlock to the ambulance. John never left his side. 

That is, until the paramedics needed to depart.

“What do you think you’re doing?” One man asked John as he tried climbing in after Sherlock.

“Going with him.” John answered bluntly.

“No. Only close family aloud with this sort of injury.”

“But-” John didn't get a chance to protest as he was forced out of the way by another paramedic boarding, the one John spoke to followed closely and shut the doors on him. 

John was stunned. He was never denied an ambulance ride. If he wasn't so shocked he would've protested, thrown a fit until they let him on. But the shock is starting to make itself known on Johns body and actions. He has been stunned into silence, and frozen in place, forced to watch the ambulance fade into the distance. 

—

Lestrade gave John the location of Sherlocks hospital. 

It shouldn't have been a problem. John is always by Sherlocks side when these sorts of things arise. The medics in London don't mind when one of them rides in the ambulance together. Typically they don't allow it when the victim is not breathing, but Sherlock was breathing, John made sure of that.

When John reached the hospital a few hours later, he immediately went to the desk to inquire about his friend. 

“No visitors but close family at this time.” She said dully, like she is bored with constantly saying those words. John is certainly bored of hearing those words. If it were up to him, he would take those words and shove them right up-

“John?” 

John turned around to find Mycroft, and Greg closely behind. 

“Mycroft.” John frowned. “Why are you here?”

“Can I not see my baby brother in his time of need?” Mycroft pondered.

“Well, yes. But you never visit when Sherlock is in the hospital.”

Mycroft hummed a moment, leaning on his umbrella. “You see, the kind Detective here, gave me a call and said no one but family is aloud to visit brother dearest. He talked me into staying with him until he is capable to leave.”

John was baffled. He never thought Mycroft could be talked into anything he doesn't want to do. 

“He wont want to see you.” John argued. He couldn't decide which was worse: Sherlock waking up alone, or Sherlock waking up with _Mycroft_ there.

Mycroft smiled. “Yes well someone has to it seems.” With that, he walked past John and to the nurse who gave him the room number, quite loudly. John mentally noted it, etched it into every crevice of his brain so he wouldn't forget it.

Like hell if Sherlock is going to wake up with only Mycroft. 

—

It took a bit of effort, but eventually John made it further into the hospital without being detected. He took the elevator to the third floor, and searched the signs for which direction the rooms went. He found Sherlocks room soon enough, just before the nurses station. 

John hesitated, it is always difficult to walk in a hospital room to see Sherlock attached to the monitors and IV bags. But he needed to do this, for him. He put on his best indifferent doctors face and went in. 

The room is small, and he first saw Mycroft on his phone. He glanced up briefly and smirked. “I figured you would find your way up.” With that, he got up and walked past John to leave.

“You’re leaving?” 

“You said it, Sherlock doesn't want me here. And now that you’re here the problem is solved. Have a good evening Doctor Watson.” Mycroft left the room, letting the door close behind him. 

John turned back to a sleeping Sherlock. He could hear the incessant beeping of his heart on the monitor. John has never felt such a relief. He sat down next to his friend, placing a hand on his wrist with a sigh.

“Reckless bastard.” He whispered fondly and laid his head on the mattress beside their hands. 

Some hour later, a nurse walked in. She looked at John and he knew what was coming next. “Are you family?”

John, who has just about had it with everyone today, replied “Yes.”

The nurse looked confused. “Oh, the man that was here earlier said he didn't have any other family-”

“I’m his husband.” John spoke smoothly and without a second thought.

“O-oh,” the nurse stammered. “Of course, my apologies.” She said and went about checking his vitals. 

“How is he?” He asked.

“He’s stable. The Doctor thinks he will be just fine.” She said, with a gentle smile.

John nodded once, “Thank you.” He said, and she left the room.

A moment later a man in a lab coat walked in, the Doctor.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Harrison.” He shook Johns hand. “I’ve been informed you are Mr. Holmes’ spouse?”

“That’s correct.” John confirmed without a flinch.

“So I’m right to assume you will be taking him home?”

“Yes.” John answered. These are all standard questions that he has asked before.

Doctor Harrison looked down at his clipboard. “Alright well his vitals look good, his heart and breathing is stable and regular. Luckily he wasn't injured anywhere too deadly, so no internal bleeding. But you should keep an eye out for any bruising in the area, and also bleeding. It wasn't exactly a clean cut, so make sure he doesn't stretch or move too severely to tear the stitches.”

John nodded right along with the Doctor as he explained Sherlocks predicament. He listened as he explained the medicines that he could have for pain, that he will need his rest and proper nutrients, and that he should be free to go by tomorrow morning.

“Thank you.” John said. The Doctor handed him the clipboard and told him to sign the bottom half that Sherlock will be taken care of when he leaves. John signed it _John H Watson-Holmes_ without question.

He handed the release form back, and the Doctor left.

John sighed, and absently took Sherlocks hand, squeezing it. Little did he expect Sherlock to squeeze back. John looked to his face immediately and found big blue eyes on him.

“You said we were married.” Sherlock stated, voice raspy. John got up quickly and poured him some water.

“Small sips.” He instructed as he brought the cup to his mouth.

“John I am perfectly capab-” Sherlock was cut off as the cup pressed to his lips.

He did as John told and took small drinks of the water. Once he was finished, he spoke. “Why?”

“Why?” John questioned him.

“Why would you tell them we’re married?” Sherlock asked him. “You loathe when anyone thinks you're gay.”

John thought a moment, and realized he hadn't thought about it at all. 

“I had to, they wouldn't let me see you otherwise.” John explained.

“So seeing me was more important than hitting on the nurse an hour ago?”

“You were awake- never mind. Yes, yes it was.” John answered. He didn't even pay close attention to her appearance. However, he now realizes she was attractive with long red hair and green eyes. He probably would have hit on her if he ran into her at the Tesco.

“I don’t understand.” Sherlock frowned, and John raised his eyebrows. It’s a rare occurrence when Sherlock doesn't understand something.

“What isn't there to understand? I told a little lie to get in here.” John tried to shrug it off.

“Obviously.” Sherlock stated, annoyed. “But usually you deny having any sort of romantic relationship with me.”

John thought about this. “Yes,” He said. “but maybe I don't mind so much anymore.” He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, but he was even more surprised at the utter truth behind them. All this time, John was in the dark with himself. Little did he know that he just wasn't ready to accept it.

Sherlock frowned. “John.” He stated his name, much like he does when Sherlock is not quite following what John is saying or doing.

John sighed, the poor sod must be going crazy trying to deduce him. Yet there is nothing to deduce with Johns words, they mean exactly what they sound like. Except Sherlock needs it spelt out for him. John smiled, this was one of the reasons why he felt strongly for Sherlock—even when he is a genius, he doesn't always get things right away. It makes Johns heart thud heavily in his chest. His genius, his uncertain man, his annoying git, his Sherlock.

“Maybe,” John began, suddenly sure of his words. “I never minded at all. Maybe I wasn't ready to admit it.”

Sherlock stared at him with deducing and unreadable eyes for a long while. The silence expanding throughout the room and speaking volumes in Johns ears, Sherlock is starting to understand.

“You’re not straight.” Sherlock deduced.

“Not entirely, no.” John answered. 

“Yes, I know that John.” Sherlock said, and looked away to play with his blanket like he is bored.

“Wha-wait you know?” Now John is the confused one.

Sherlock looked up. “Yes, John. I’ve always known. Do you take me for a fool?”

John was dumbfounded. “Er- no Sherlock. Of course not.”

“You’ve been in denial since the day I met you at Barts. I couldn't understand what you were saying to me just now because I already knew this. I assumed you knew that I knew. Apologies for grasping that you had no idea of my knowledge on your sexuality sooner.”

“How could I-”

“How could you know that I know something you buried so deep that even _you_ didn't know you know?”

John blinked. It took a second for him to answer. “Er- yes.”

“Easy John. It’s what I do for a living.” Sherlock leaned back against his pillow and sighed.

This was not how John had imagined the conversation to go.

They were quiet for a moment, John wasn't sure what to say on the topic anymore. Instead he thought it be best if his friend got his rest. Just as he spoke, Sherlock also spoke.

“You should get some rest-”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

John stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. Sherlock looked at him with his typical indifferent gaze. 

“Forget I asked, it’s obvious.” Sherlock brushed him off with a wave of his hand, and relaxed back into his pillows.

“Is it?” John asked him.

Sherlock sighed, and tried not to cringe at the pain it caused his stomach. “Yes, John.” He shut his eyes as if he could fake sleeping so John would stop speaking. 

“How?”

“Honestly John, are you really so obtuse?” Sherlock looked at him with his blank stare.

John glared at him. He has gotten use to Sherlocks insults, but they still get to him when it comes to his intelligence. “Why don't you enlighten me with your knowledge? Unless you think my small brain won’t comprehend it.”

Sherlock gave him the _really John_ stare. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re avoiding the subject.” He shot back.

“It is obvious for ten reasons.”

“Ten?”

“Yes that is what I said.”

John rolled his eyes. “Alright get on with it then.”

“The first is rather simple, Mrs. Hudson-”

“Mrs. Hudson-” John tried to question.

“Do you want to hear it or not?” Sherlock snapped. John shut his mouth. “Your utter need to repeatedly deny her comments about our relationship and your sexual orientation said it all. Any straight man would be comfortable enough with his sexuality that he could laugh it off. You, however, look like a teenage girl whose diary was stolen and read to the entire study body.”

John glared at him. “I do NOT-” He began.

“The second is Mycroft and Craig,”

“It’s Greg.” John corrected.

“You’re easily irritated and uncomfortable with the two of them in the same room as us. Separately you’re perfectly alright, but together… Well, let’s just say you see them like a reflection of us.” John gaped at him and Sherlock cringed. “Not that I approve of you seeing Mycroft as my reflection, but given the circumstances I’ll forgive you.”

“And what circumstances are those?” John asked him.

“Your struggle, obviously. And I can only understand your mindset in that case. Mycroft is my brother after all, however it is quite clear I'm not that fat.”

“Sherlock he is not-”

“The third is that day on the crosswalk when that absolutely dimwitted and _repulsive_ man came onto me,” Sherlock didn't bother to hide his cringe. “I simply stated we were sleeping together and whisked you down the street-”

“You did not _whisk_ me.” John argued. “You took my hand and _dragged_ me down the street.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don't bother me with semantics John, the point is you did not pull away or let go until we were back at Baker street.”  
John stared at him. “Maybe I was just too shocked to react.”

Sherlock made a noise that sounded like a restrained growl. “Quit dancing around the facts. You were in the military, of course you weren’t too shocked to react.”

John didn't say anything, and after a moment of awkward silence Sherlock went on. “Number four is when I met your sister.”

John stiffened. His sister and this topic have always been a bit of a sore spot, especially after the few times she and Sherlock have met. 

“You don't need to explain that one.” John said, looking uncomfortable. Sherlock watched him with his calculating eyes and then nodded. John relaxed. It has been hard enough constantly denying it with his sister, to hear it said out loud now that he was wrong each time she's announced it to the world, to know that his sister knew something about himself that John didn't even know… well it is a bit troublesome. 

“Number five is the bar with you, myself and Garrett-”

“Greg-”

Sherlock smiled. “Oh John, how ignorant you were then. It makes me question your capability to hold your liquor.”

John pressed his lips into a fine line. “Yes yes alright. I wasn't fully myself that night.”

“Could you really not tell that the woman looked _exactly_ like me?”

“Frankly, I’m surprised even you still remember this.”

“I remember everything John. Alcohol does not effect my mind palace.”

“Can we move on to the next please?” John rested his elbow on Sherlocks bed and placed his head in his hand. He can feel the stirrings of a headache starting.

“Number six is Angelos, that one should speak for itself as well.” Sherlock looked to John as if he asked a question, but said it like a statement.  
“I’ve stopped correcting Angelo.” John confirmed.

“Very good John, you’re catching up.” Sherlock praised him in a patronizing tone. “Number seven is my parents,” Sherlocks face contorted at his mention of it. “you felt offended and hurt when my parents started acting like the homophobes they are. Yet you wonder why I try to avoid them.” He added the last part as an after thought.

John was about to defend himself. He was going to tell Sherlock he had no idea his parents were such uptight assholes, that he didn't know Sherlocks sexuality, and that his parents made it clear that he needs to marry a woman. 

However, Sherlock continued on before John got the chance. “Now eight, Irene Adler.”

“She explains nothing!” John exclaimed in defense. “If anything, it told me you were straight.”

“It was an act for the case, John. It was quite clear you were jealous of the attention she received from me.”

John scowled. He tried to think of a good response but came up short. Sherlock is not wrong, in the mix of him denying his sexuality, John was jealous that Irene got Sherlocks attention. John was suppose to be the one who kept Sherlocks mind interested, not her.

“Then there is your parents.” Sherlock smirked at this.

“Oh god,” John said and dropped his head to the bed. His almost headache is now a full-on headache. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, John. I rather like your family.”

John turned his head on the mattress to look at him. “Yes, they have a habit of befriending everyone they come in contact to.” 

“They also knew you were gay. There is nothing more telling than your family knowing something about you, even when you don’t. Consciously anyway. They did raise you.”

John raised his head up, blood pounding in his forehead as he did. “How does that explain your parents then?” John countered, ignoring the pain.  
Sherlocks eyes went cold. “My parents are the exception, and they were never around to begin with.”

John looked away, feeling like he may have made a mistake bringing it up. He could only imagine what it was like for Sherlock and Mycroft growing up. He saw two children surrounded by everything they ever wanted… except their parents. John imagined they had a different nanny every week, that their parents promised to be home occasionally but ‘something came up’. He could picture them growing colder as the years went on, and more intelligent based on all the home schooling and tutors they had. 

“Don’t feel sorry for me, John. It was for the better.” Sherlock said, his eyes stayed blank. John wasn't convinced. Not just because of the look he is giving him, and the slight weariness in his voice, but because of the way Sherlock had actually _apologized_ to him the night after their dinner at the Manor.

“Right,” John began, “Number ten?”

Sherlock perked up just then, his mind back to a good train of thought. “The letters from Moriarty.”

_So much for a good train of thought_ , John thought. 

“How could you even know about those?”

“You kept them. That’s what puts them on this list.”

“That could mean anything, Sherlock.” John was shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. He refused to look him in the eye, and just stared blankly at his legs under the sheets. Just the mention of Moriarty and the letters made John feel the loss, anger, and hurt all over again. 

Sherlock must’ve picked up on it. Of course he would pick up on it. “I’m here, John. I’m not going anywhere anymore.” He said in a surprisingly gentle voice.

John slowly looked up at him and saw the complete sincerity in his face. That doesn't take away from the pain he suffered that year Sherlock was gone, and how much anger he still holds for the man himself for leaving him behind. 

John scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. They are past that now, Sherlock knows what he did, John knows why he had to do it, and they both know it will take a lot of time to heal that. It’s only been 6 months since his return, a month for John to finally talk to Sherlock again, and two weeks for him to convince John to live with him once more.

John shook his head. That is not the topic right now. Right now, John had something else on his mind. “Okay,” John sighed, looking Sherlock in the eye. “Now what?” He questioned him.

Sherlock frowned at the inquiry. “It’s quite obvious, John.” Sherlock stated to him. 

John raised his eyebrows, waiting for Sherlock to share ‘the obvious’ with him.

“Kiss me,” He said. “Kiss me now, John Watson.” He demanded.

John’s heart leapt out of his chest. He stared at Sherlock, his hair is rumpled all over from being in the hospital, his skin more pale than usual, eyes heavy from the effort of staying awake to talk to John. The Doctor inside of him said he needs to rest, but the best friend in him said he needs to do what he told him to do.

All this time, it’s taken John all this time, a denial into an ambulance and hospital room, for John to come to his senses. Who knew it would be something so simple to make John realize that everyone was right?

This is his flatmate, his best friend, his partner in crime (literally), and now his lover.

So, before Johns school-girl nerves could talk him out of it, he leaned up from his chair and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long, but it's finally here!  
> Thank you all so much for reading and your support through the story. I'm happy you all enjoyed it!  
> xoxo


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